The dawn‐light broke over a shore unlike any arena the world had ever known.
No coliseum stood here—only the rumble of waves against black volcanic sand, and a sky mottled with dawn's first gray.
Ships bearing champions from each race creaked to anchor in the shallow bay. As the boarding planks fell, six figures stepped onto the shore:
Elves emerged on pearly sands to the northeast, their staves glinting with ancient runes.
Dragonoids disembarked onto jagged stone terraces in the northwest, scales glittering in the early light.
Demons strode onto the obsidian dunes of the southeast, eyes flickering with demonic fire.
Humans, clad in darkened leathers and subtle armor, took position on the southwest lane—Kael Riven and Lucien Thorne at their center, Selene Virellia at their side, and three champions behind them.
The island was empty of life. No birds cried overhead. No beasts echoed through the trees. Only the crackle of ward-runes, arrayed in crystalline towers, broadcast every sight and sound to every corner of the Empire—and beyond.
A herald's voice rang over the magically projected horns, audible in distant human citadels, elven glades, dragonoid keeps, and demon citadels alike:
"By decree of the Imperial Court and Allied Concord, the Tenth Centennial Convergence is moved. Champions will compete in a Battle Royal on Cerenthia Island. Six representatives per race, last race with survivors claims victory. Gates open at first light—no further announcements."
Gasps of disbelief echoed across the broadcast feeds. Strategies built for a single arena were instantly obsolete.
Kael and Lucien exchanged a glance—exhilaration sparking in their eyes instead of dread.
Lucien laughed, voice bright:
"An uncharted island? No rules but survival? That changes all."
Kael nodded, aura flickering violet around his wrists:
"Exactly. Now every plan we made is just the first draft."
Their smiles were electric—contagious confidence that swept through their teammates. In that moment, every human champion understood: they did not come to endure. They came to own this challenge.
When the broadcast cameras focused on the human line, Kael stepped forward and spoke for all to hear:
"Humanity always ranked fourth—because we weren't here. We weren't born yet."
A hush fell across distant watching halls. Then Lucien's voice followed, steady and certain:
"This time, we will be first. Not as a promise—but as a fact decided by us."
No cheers rose—only the weight of their conviction, carried on every magical channel. Allies gasped. Rivals bristled. But the humans simply squared their shoulders.
Before them lay miles ofshore—dense forests, ruined temples half-buried in sand, hidden ravines and jagged hills. The island's interior was nothing but rumor and legend until now. They could not see the elves to the northeast, the dragonoids to the northwest, or the demons to the southeast—only an expanse of unbroken terrain.
Every movement, every cast of magic, every summon of aura would be watched by millions. Every stray arrow, every whispered command carried on the wind to the broadcast towers.
Yet Kael and Lucien did not flinch. Instead, they turned to Selene.
"You're on the field with us," Kael reminded her softly.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," she replied, voice calm and fierce.
The team gathered close—six humans ready to test their mettle against the world.
A low hum built as the gates—four great arches of crackling light—stirred to life behind them. The start horns would sound any heartbeat now.
Kael drew in a breath of salty air.
Lucien's mana coalesced around his fist.
Selene checked her dagger, eyes reflecting every lane of the island.
And then, as one, they stepped forward.
No grandstand. No scripted duel.
Just six champions—humans born too late to win before, now determined to stand alone, undefeated, until the last race fell.
The island waited. Their moment had arrived.
Tomorrow, history would remember them not as the fourth race, but as the first.